


Undercurrents

by visionofblue (merelyafigment)



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-16
Updated: 2005-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:08:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/visionofblue
Summary: While Alvarez and O'Reily play cards, there's a conversation no one else can hear flowing between them. (Drabble written for a prompt.)
Relationships: Miguel Alvarez/Ryan O'Reily
Kudos: 3





	Undercurrents

**Author's Note:**

> Archiving Note: just archiving and backdating very old fic (in 2020). Originally posted on journals long ago 
> 
> Warning: It's Oz, so always beware of possible terrible language, behavior, attitudes, and slurs.
> 
> Written for rojimouse from the prompt: converse without the conversation. (This is one of three, completely unrelated drabbles inspired by the same prompt.)

Everything anyone says during a poker game is a lie. 

Even if it wasn't, you had to treat it that way to have half a chance of seeing the truth, getting a read on the cards they held. Miguel relaxed back in the plastic chair in the middle of Emcity, cards kept close in his hands, eyes watching. He was only half paying attention to the shit coming out of his own mouth.

Bullshit. Bragging. Gossip. All designed to hide his cards, like the careful lean of his body and the hands holding them. Away from O'Reily, closer to Beecher. Beecher wouldn't try to sneak a peek. He'd play fair. He wouldn't put that shit past O'Reily, though. Hell, he wouldn't put it past O'Reily to have half a deck stashed on that skinny hard frame somewhere. 

Miguel may be dumb enough to trust him alone, locked away in dark stolen space, to believe the words the Irishman murmured over his lips. But here? Playing cards? Nah. Every man for himself. His baby would fleece him for everything he had with a wink and a twinkle of those eyes.

He didn't trust Ryan only with the stupid shit that didn't matter. Games. Chess. Cards. 

His life...that he was stupid enough to put in the other man's hands.

Oh well.

Miguel had two queens right in the palm of his hand. Beecher had...something. Not as good. Hill didn't have shit. But he couldn't tell what Ryan had. Miguel listened to his amusing sarcastic observations and bullshit, smirking in the right places.

But he was busy watching.

Half for the game, half just to watch, because he could.

The tug of thin deceptive lips, the lines of expression around green eyes, the play of emotion going on in them. The slump of Ryan's body, arms casually spread over the table, cards held loosely. He was actually relaxed, not just playing it for show. His legs spread wide under the table, always airing out his dick. Like he needed the room.

This, Miguel could read. He could tell what that shiver of heat in the corner of O'Reily's eyes was trying to tell him. It wasn't about the cards, that was something he still kept hidden. 

The invitation to join him after the card game, however the chips fell, was what was loud and clear.

Body language wide open. It would read as strength and confidence to anyone else. _I own this space, I'll take as much of it as I want. You can't touch me._

Miguel knew what it also meant. What it really meant, privately for Miguel -- Ryan claiming all that space wishing he would help fill it. 

Miguel felt the bump against his foot when Ryan barely shifted while throwing in his bet.

_Miss you._

The compulsive lick of Ryan's pink tongue over dry lips when Miguel laughed gruffly at something Hill said.

_Want you._

Motherfucker had two kings. Of course. 

Ryan's extravagant lean forward, slowly pulling in his winnings with a grin. Big show. His arm brushed all along Miguel's skin, as he purposely kept his own arm carefully outspread on the table. Miguel bitched at the Irishman for stealing his money, gesturing with the hand near Beecher, only paying attention to the slow heat of those eyes and the touch in plain sight. It only seemed meaningless. 

***

End


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